


Won't Let Me Shake the Shadow

by poselikeateam



Series: Higher Vampire Jaskier AUs [7]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aromantic Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, BAMF Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Bisexual Disaster Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Bisexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Blood Drinking, Blood Loss, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Character Turned Into Vampire, Coming of Age, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Emetophobia, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Self-Esteem Issues, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Says "Hmm", Heavy Angst, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Nosebleed, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, POV Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Secrets, Soul Bond, Vampire Bites, Vampire Jaskier | Dandelion, Vampire Turning, Vampires, Vomiting, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg is So Done, but in like a really fucked up way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24540430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poselikeateam/pseuds/poselikeateam
Summary: After all this time, Jaskier never thought he'd come into his inheritance. Now, it's coming — and fast. He's turning into a vampire.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Higher Vampire Jaskier AUs [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754371
Comments: 72
Kudos: 950
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	1. Blink of an Eye, Feels Like Forever

**Author's Note:**

> This is a heavy one, so strap in. CW for a lot of blood. Like, a lot. As always, happy ending is guaranteed, as well as an egregious overuse of italics. I'm going to be uploading a chapter every other day, alternating with Like a Puzzle (My Pieces Come Together). 
> 
> I listened to Heartwork by The Used on repeat while writing this, which probably had a heavy influence in the whole blood-and-gore-and-angst thing I've got going on. _Bloody Nose_ was the biggest influence, but the main and chapter titles are taken from lines in _Paradise Lost, a poem by John Milton_ , the first track on the album. I felt like it fit very well. The point is it's a fantastic soundtrack to this fic, if you're into that sort of thing. 
> 
> Also the POV alternates chapter by chapter. I really appreciate all the comments I've been getting. You're very sweet, and it means a lot to me. Thanks, everyone!

What starts as a normal journey turns to shit in a spectacular way very quickly. 

They’re on their way to Yennefer’s current address. It’s more secluded than normal, and Jaskier is complaining very loudly about it all. 

“We’re going to meet the most evil woman we know in the middle of nowhere,” he whines. 

“You didn’t have to come,” Geralt reminds him, and Jaskier glares at him.

“I can’t very well leave you to be enslaved by her on your own!” he snaps back. 

Geralt knows that they don’t hate each other as much as they let on. Sometimes, he almost thinks they might be friends, in a strange sort of way that he’ll never try to understand. That does not keep them from pretending they’re the worst of enemies in his presence, though, and he knows better than to argue.

Suddenly, their bickering is interrupted by an arrow that _very_ narrowly misses the younger man. It sinks into the dirt in front of him as he stops short, before Geralt is jumping off of Roach and drawing his steel sword. The witcher easily parries the arrows that come at them now that their assailants no longer have the element of surprise, and it forces them out into the open.

Bandits. Of course it’s fucking bandits, who else would be stupid enough to attack a witcher in the middle of the woods? 

Despite having to protect Jaskier as he fights them off, Geralt makes short work of the small group. There are only a handful of them, not really enough to fully surround them, and he keeps the bard between his own back and a large tree. One of them goes down directly in front of him, spraying him with blood from the slash he makes across her throat. With only one bandit left, trembling maybe ten feet in front of him, he feels that it’s safe enough to leave Jaskier on his own to take care of the last loose end. 

After dispatching their last assailant with practised ease, Geralt bends down to wipe his blade on the clean patch of the dead man’s tunic before sheathing it. As he slides the sword home, he notices that Jaskier is unusually quiet, and turns to face him.

Jaskier’s hands are covering his mouth and nose, as if he’s afraid to breathe. His eyes are wide, staring at the bandit lying in front of him, gurgling her last breaths through the blood spilling from her mouth. Geralt has never seen him shake so badly, has never smelled fear on him like this. It doesn’t make sense. The bandits are all dead or dying, and Jaskier has seen bloodshed before. He has seen Geralt kill in self-defense before. Why is he afraid now?

“Jaskier?” he asks tentatively. He sees blood spilling from between Jaskier’s fingers, and it’s alarming. “You’re hurt,” he says, striding closer, but the trembling bard shakes his head. 

“N-no,” he says, muffled by his hands. “It’s… fuck, Geralt, you have to believe me, I didn’t know it would happen like this — I thought it wasn’t going to happen at _all_!”

Now the witcher’s worry is topped with a healthy layer of confusion. “What do you mean? Thought what wouldn’t happen?”

“I-I need to get to Yennefer,” says the bard, which only adds to Geralt’s confusion and concern. 

“What has Yen got to do with it?” he asks.

“She said she’d help when— if it happened,” Jaskier says. 

Geralt is getting tired of this cryptic bullshit. “If _what_ happened, bard?” he demands, and Jaskier flinches.

“Geralt, I _can’t_ ,” he says. “Not here, not now. We have to get moving, _please_ , there isn’t _time_.” 

“You will tell me on the way,” the witcher says firmly. 

“Yeah. Yes.” He brings his hands away from his face, and Geralt sees that his nose is bleeding. A lot. Before he can ask — again — the bard tries to step forward and immediately falls. “Fuck’s sake,” he spits, trying and failing to push himself up with trembling arms.

“Here,” Geralt says, stepping closer and picking the bard up. He doesn’t know how else they’re supposed to leave, if Jaskier can’t even _stand_ on his own, so he’s resigned to carrying him like he’s cradling an infant.

“It’s coming on faster than I thought,” Jaskier murmurs.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, trying _very_ hard to be at least somewhat patient, “I am not going to ask again. _What_ is happening?”

“I suppose I should have mentioned it,” the bard says evasively. “I’m… sort of becoming a vampire.”

The witcher glares at him. “Vampires are born,” he says, “you can’t just _become_ one.”

The bard glares back. “No offense — strike that, a moderate amount of offense intended — but you don’t know fuck-all about this, witcher.”

“And you do, bard?”

“As a matter of fact, when one’s father is a higher vampire, one tends to know a thing or two about them,” Jaskier snaps.

Geralt almost drops him.

“Explain,” he says, adjusting his grip on the bard as he continues to walk at as brisk a pace as he can without jostling him.

“People don’t know much about higher vampires,” Jaskier tells him. “For good reason. They— we— don’t want the attention. So I swear, if you try to use this for your— your witchering, or if you tell _anyone_ —”

“I won’t,” Geralt assures him.

“Fine,” answers the bard, deflating a little as his anger recedes. “When a higher vampire has a child, the child is, for all intents and purposes, human. At some point, that human child will take on the traits of their kind, a sort of… rebirth. It’s not… there’s no way to determine when it will happen, this coming of age. For me… I’m only half, and I’m nearly in my sixties. I thought that if it was going to happen, it would have happened by now. I’d assumed that I’d inherited my father’s longevity and nothing else.

“The change is… not pretty,” he continues, gritting his teeth in obvious pain. “Nor is it fun, I’ll have you know. Never have looked forward to it. Didn’t think it would take so fucking _quickly_. I think… the bandits’ blood might have set it off.”

“And the nosebleed?” Geralt asks, unconsciously clutching the bard tighter.

Jaskier gives a sort of tired, half-shrug. “Body’s remaking itself,” he murmurs like it’s no big deal. “Dying, sort of — like melting inside.”

The witcher really does _not_ like the sound of that. He’s worried that they won’t make it to Yennefer’s place in time on foot, but he’s also pretty sure that he won’t be able to keep the bard on Roach. They were so _close_ before this happened and now it feels so far away.

“What can Yen do about it?” Geralt asks. He isn’t sure which of them he’s trying to distract.

“Nothing really, during,” says the bard. “Mostly, need help with adjusting after. She can’t do much before that, except keep me inside. Quiet the screaming, if it comes to that. Maybe dull the pain — not counting on it, though. Still dying. Not forever, mind — but dying all the same.” He cries out in obvious pain, before biting back the sound. “Don’t wanna worry you. I-I’ll be fine a-after. Just h-hurts now,” he adds.

“I don’t like it,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier starts to laugh, but it quickly turns to coughing, and the blood that comes out with each cough is _not_ a comfort. “That makes t-two of us,” he grits out.

Moments later, thankfully, he sees Yennefer’s current home in the distance. “Will you be okay if I run?” he asks.

The bard shrugs again. “Gonna hurt no matter what,” he answers. “Best to get there faster.”

As much as he doesn’t like it, Geralt does as the other says and starts running. He does his best to ignore the pained noises that Jaskier is making while cradled against his chest. Even though he was told not to worry, the word ‘dying’ repeats itself over and over in his head like a sick mantra. Jaskier is dying in his arms, painfully, and there is nothing he can do.

“Yen!” he bellows as he gets to the door. He’s not willing to let go of the other to knock, so he kicks at the door — not hard enough to break it down, but enough to make a solid _thud_. 

Thankfully, moments later the door opens to a very annoyed-looking sorceress. “Geralt, do you have any idea what time—” she starts, snapping her mouth shut as she lays her eyes on the bard. “It’s happened, then?”

“Happening,” Jaskier corrects weakly. “Fast. Feels like shit.”

“Yes, I expect it would,” she says. Geralt doesn’t miss the concerned furrow of her brow. “Get him in here, he’s in for a long few days.”

“Days?” Geralt repeats, horrified.

“It could be up to a week,” Yennefer says. She’s already busying herself with vials and herbs and who knows what else.

“Won’t,” the bard grits out. “I can… feel it. Won’t drag out too long.”

“I suppose you’re one of the lucky ones, then,” the sorceress teases absently. 

Jaskier makes a weak, wheezing sort of noise that is probably meant to be laughter. 

“Set him down already,” Yennefer snaps at Geralt. She gestures vaguely and there’s a cot — he doesn’t think it was there before, but that doesn’t actually matter. As gently as he can, he sets the bard down on it. When he does, she turns and pins him with a piercing look. “Your hovering won’t be of any use,” she decides. “Here’s a list. Go make yourself useful and gather these.”

Normally, he wouldn’t be as accepting of being ordered around like this — and he doesn’t want to leave Jaskier alone when he’s in pain like this — but he knows she’s right. If he can be of any help, he wants to, and keeping busy will calm his thoughts.


	2. Blessed With This Curse My Whole Life

Jaskier feels like _shit_. 

There was always the concern, in the back of his head, that his father’s blood would stir in him one day. He’d never known any other half-breeds — never really known any vampires that weren’t his own family — so he wasn’t even sure that it would. After he’d passed his thirties by, he just assumed that it _wouldn’t_ , that he was _safe_ from the change. Clearly, he was wrong.

It’s sort of fortunate, really, that they were already on their way to Yennefer’s place, the only stroke of good luck in all of this mess. When they’d met, she had saved his life, but the spell she used was made for humans, so of course she noticed that something was _off_ about him. Even Geralt had no way of knowing, and finding and killing monsters is his whole _thing_. 

“I noticed something in your blood that I’ve never encountered before,” she had said. “Care to explain?”

He couldn’t hold back a flinch at the calculating look in her eyes, the way she looked like she wanted to dissect him, or something. “Not really,” he’d answered, “but I suppose I’ll have to all the same.”

Just as he later would with Geralt, he’d sworn her to secrecy. If he actually believed that she’d keep her word, well, that was up for debate. Still, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and he didn’t really see a better option. So, he’d told her about his kind — his _father’s_ kind, not his just yet — and how there was a possibility, however slim, that he would have to make the change one day.

He also happened to keep heavily implying that she may be the only non-vampire to ever have this knowledge. Mages have a _thing_ with knowledge — they covet it, hoard secrets like dragons hoard gold. If he stressed how incredible of an opportunity it was for her to know this, didn’t lay it on too thick but made it very clear all the same, then he was willing to bet that she would actually keep the secret. 

It had worked. Even before they were friends, as far as he knew, she didn’t tell a soul. He didn’t really like her at first — couldn’t trust her, was painfully jealous of how easily she could just take what she wanted from Geralt (what they _both_ wanted) while he waited and wanted silently for twenty two fucking _years_ — but she had proven herself trustworthy, at least. 

At first, he had known that her offer of help was purely academic. She would be the first to _study_ the metamorphosis from human to higher vampire. Even if she took this knowledge to her grave, it would be _hers_. Still, if anything it was a comfort — mages are so careful with their experiments, she surely wouldn’t let any harm come to him if she made him into her pet project.

After the incident on the mountain, they’d found each other before either of them found Geralt. They bonded over their mutual hurt and irritation with the taciturn man, they commiserated. They became, if not friends, allies, like a support group of people who’d had their hearts mishandled by one Geralt of Rivia. Even when they both made up with him — Jaskier, at least, would never be able to actually stay upset with the witcher once he actually got his own head out of his arse and _apologised_ , even though it was partly because he’d never expected an actual apology — they stayed friends. They only grew _closer_ as they experienced more together. 

Of course, he’d known he was still something of a case study for her. He didn’t really mind, and he still doesn’t. She would occasionally ask questions and he would answer what he could, and she would make cryptic notes in some tome that could only be opened by her before they went back to drinking or talking or whatever it was they’d been doing, like they had never been interrupted by her curiosity. 

Jaskier is glad that she had asked so many questions. For one, he wouldn’t have known what to tell her without that direction, what would be important for her to know. It also got him thinking about things that he just hadn’t before. How long would it last? What would it feel like? Did he have a plan for how to get to her once it started?

The answer to that last one was no. Once he told her so, she had rolled her eyes in that way of hers that simultaneously said ‘men are idiots’ and ‘you’re lucky I care enough to help you’, and without explaining she simply stood and walked off into another room. Just as he was about to decide to get up and look for her, she came back with a little charm — a buttercup, encased in resin, lightly thrumming with some kind of magic. 

“Keep this on your person,” she’d told him, pressing it into his hands. “You can use it to get in touch with me once it starts.” She then proceeded to show him how, and for a few years he always kept it on hand. As more time passed, though, he supposes he just stopped believing that he would need it. He kept it in his lute case, figuring that since he was rarely without his lute he would just fish it out if he ever needed it. 

Then, of course, they get attacked by bandits, and the change starts to take hold so quickly that it slips his mind altogether.

“You should have used the charm,” Yennefer scolds, not looking up from whatever weird shit she’s mixing together. 

“Forgot,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “Been a while, _ngh!_ and w-we were already… on our way.”

“Good thing, too,” she says, looking at him now. “When did it start?”

“Maybe… less than twenty m-minutes,” he answers.

Her eyebrows raise up so high he’s surprised they don’t fly off of her face. “That _is_ quick,” she says, then holds something up to his mouth. “Milk of the poppy,” she explains. “I doubt it will be near enough, but it’s worth a try.”

He shakes his head. “Been done,” he says. “Didn’t h-help father. B-be a waste.”

The thing is, he knows what’s happening inside of him. He doesn’t really know how to _explain_ it, but it’s sort of like if he were made of ice, and his insides were melting, only to be refrozen immediately into a different shape. He is being reborn as he dies, being put back together as he falls apart. And it is fucking _agonising_. 

He’s never wanted this. Even when it’s done and over with, things aren’t going to just go back to normal. He’s going to have to learn how to exist all over again, how to be something different than he has been for more than fifty years. He’s going to have to learn to live with that and he doesn’t know how. All he knows is that it’s going to be miserable. 

Geralt might be able to help, he thinks, if the witcher doesn’t simply wash his hands of him after this is all said and done. After all, he had gone through something similar to what the bard is going to experience. Jaskier’s senses will be sharper, he will have abilities he won’t know what to do with just yet. He will be able to hear the heartbeats of those around him. Until he gets his senses and impulses under control he won’t be able to be around anyone, won’t be able to go out and perform and do what he loves. If Geralt is willing to help, though, to maybe give him advice or walk him through what the witcher had done when he found himself enhanced in a similar way? It would be a massive help. 

Jaskier can’t help but worry that the only reason Geralt is still here, the only reason he’s helping, is because he’s confused. He knows that Geralt wouldn’t have left him lying there under any circumstances because he is good and kind even if no one else — the man himself included — seems to want to admit that. Still, if he had simply dropped Jaskier off with Yennefer and never looked at him again, he can’t say he’d blame him. Once he has time to process everything that’s just happened, everything that’s happening, he might still leave, and Jaskier still will not hold it against him.

It’s a lot to spring on someone, he knows. He just hadn’t wanted to worry Geralt with it. And yes, that sounds stupid now that he thinks about it, but at the time it had made sense. As much as the witcher refuses to admit it, he is an enormous worry wart. Jaskier wasn’t even sure that this was going to happen to him, so of course he wasn’t going to bring it up. It would just be another thing to keep Geralt up at night, and Gods know he doesn’t need more of _those_. 

“I need you to focus, bard,” Yennefer suddenly snaps, pulling him out of his own thoughts. “Stay with me.”

“Hurts,” he says in response. Yes, okay, it’s obvious, but he can’t just — for once, the last thing he wants to do is talk.

“I’m aware. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about that until Geralt returns.”

It takes a second for him to process that. Is she implying that she’s found a way to bring the pain down? “W-what— _fuck_ — wha’d’y’mean?” he slurs, trying _very_ hard to stay focused on the blurry figure of the sorceress.

“I’ve a theory,” she tells him. “I think if we combine Geralt’s blood with—”

“ _No!_ ” he bites out fiercely. 

They’ve had this conversation. While yes, the pain can be dulled and the process sped up with blood, it’s immensely dangerous. Long ago, it was common — fledgling vampires would be given a human to devour, would come out of it more quickly, stronger than those who for whatever reason didn’t have that advantage. 

The problem with that is that the human, in almost every case, does not survive. Even when the fledgling is given a small amount of blood, it does something to them. It makes them fixate on finishing that first meal no matter what, until they have hunted down the human that gave to them and devoured them all the same. For most, the practise fell out ages ago. 

He is entirely unwilling to risk it.

“I’m aware of the danger,” she snaps, “and if I thought for even a moment that it wasn’t worth the risk then I would never suggest it. Do not doubt my abilities, bard.” 

He grimaces, and it has far less to do with the pain than one might think. If this is an ego thing, there is absolutely no talking her out of it, especially in this state. Of course, that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try.


	3. All the Tragic We’ve Been Through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve never written Yennefer’s POV before but it was a LOT of fun. I only hope I did her justice

Men are absolute fools. Yennefer is absolutely, one hundred and eleven percent confident that she has never met a single one who wasn’t. Oh, sure, there are educated men, and even wise men, but under that veneer of learning they’re still _men_ , good only for posturing and puffing themselves up and acting like they’re the only creatures in the world who can get anything done while the women of the world actually make sure everything runs smoothly.

This whole self-sacrificing thing that they seem to always have going on, the ‘it’s so terribly noble of me to suffer unnecessarily’ schtick, makes her want to scream. Oh, she’s generalising? Obviously, yes, absolutely. And listen, she has frankly been around long enough that she is entirely confident in her generalisations. Even the men who are marginally different from the rest, the _tolerable_ ones, are still _men_.

Unlike the men in her life, she does not have this weird martyr complex seemingly branded into her very being. If something is going to hurt her, she avoids it as best as she can. She can calculate the best course of action and then take it. 

It has been, what, twenty years? Thirty? Admittedly she hasn’t been keeping count, it would be dreadfully dull and an enormous waste of her time besides, but it has been at least a couple of decades since she found out about the beast lurking in the bard’s blood. She has had a solid amount of time to try to come up with a solution.

To her knowledge, no mage has ever been able to study the subject of vampire transformations. If what the bard had told her was anything to go by, none of them even knew that it was a subject to study. Perhaps there have been vampire sorcerers and sorceresses but she isn’t going to hold her breath. If there were, then they surely would have solved this problem by now.

And, okay, admittedly Yennefer is not the most emotionally developed person. Nobody is perfect and as far as shortcomings go, she’s more than fine with that being hers. But she has absolutely nothing on Geralt in that category — and, for all his poetry and feelings, apparently Jaskier as well. 

_Men._

This needs explaining. Essentially, some amount of decades ago, she found out about how higher vampires come into being. The bard had really tried to stroke her ego by driving home the point that she was the only non-vampire who had ever known, probably — and even though she had known that he was just trying to get her to keep his precious secrets, she was willing to go along with it. He had been right with his little gamble; she did _not_ want to share this information with any of her conniving brothers and sisters.

Yes, even Triss.

It quickly became her favourite project. Listen, when one gets to a certain age, there are so few things that are _new_ and _exciting_. It might explain why lunatics like Dethmold are the way that they are. Then again, that asshole specifically is probably just a creep by nature.

The point is, at first it was just a scholarly interest, an unexpected novelty. Unfortunately, she grew to develop _feelings_ on the matter. Specifically, she supposes, she developed feelings for the _bard_. And at first, it was just vague amusement. The little lark can be good company over a bottle of Erveleuce. Admittedly, they also bonded very well over their mutual experience of being accidentally fucked over by a certain bullheaded witcher. Really, she’d always known that nothing tends to bring two people together quite like a mutual grudge.

In the beginning, Geralt was the thing that put them at odds. They were both competing for his affection — and maybe the witcher and bard weren’t aware, but she certainly was. She’s not a fool. After that, Geralt was the thing that brought them together. Then, to her… well, mild irritation at this point, Geralt fairly easily slotted himself back into place in their lives.

Now, she’s frustratingly fond of the both of them. It isn’t really their fault that they’re morons — it’s in their nature. They were practically born to be frustrating. Unfortunately for her — and for reasons she admittedly isn’t entirely sure of, herself — the good seems to outweigh the bad. She is _fond_ of the both of them. 

This brings the subject back ‘round to the fact that even with her emotional handicap she is still apparently more competent than the both of them combined where matters of the heart are concerned.

Pathetic.

She knows that, against her better judgment, she is now friends with the both of them. She also knows that they care for her in return — and in a very _different_ way for each other. She _furthermore_ knows that they are too stupid to realise this. And honestly, if Yennefer was going to make a list of the things that she is aware of but her companions are not, she would have started the day she met them and still not be finished.

It hadn’t been easy for her to get her hands on tomes describing the change that Jaskier was so afraid of going through, and the history behind the ways that vampires have sought to bring some level of control to it in the past. Of course, just because something is not _easy_ , doesn’t mean it will keep her from _doing it_. Between the few tomes that she was able to read, and what she was told by the bard, she had managed to piece together a reasonable working theory. 

One thing that kept coming up was that most of the time, the human whose blood is consumed will be killed one way or another — even if they were separated from the fledgling, they would simply be hunted down in most cases. There are three things about that that she immediately took note of.

First: it is not _every_ instance. So the first thing that she did when regarding this point was search out a common thread that connected the outlying cases. In every single case, there was only one common factor: the vampire ended up essentially mated to the human whose blood they consumed. She has never been a gambling woman but she would bet her last gold coin that Jaskier is unaware of the fact that his own parents are one of these mated pairs. 

The second thing that she found particularly noteworthy was the use of the word _human_. She and Geralt are not quite human any longer, not after the changes that they themselves have endured. In the cases she has read about, the vampire and their mate had the same lifespan. It is essentially what she and Geralt had been forced into by that cursed djinn. 

And obviously, it _will_ work, which brings her to the third point: not one of the cases, successful or otherwise, involved a sorceress. 

Obviously, this proves both that there are no vampire mages, and that she is the first to be able to study this metamorphosis. However, those are secondary observations, since they are not directly useful in regards to what she is trying to accomplish. 

The thing is, she does understand why higher vampires feel the need for secrecy. Before they actually become higher vampires is the only time in their lives that they are vulnerable. Jaskier is lucky that he’s been under a witcher’s protection up until now, because for all his human fragility he has always acted like he always has that vampiric invincibility. It’s almost endearing, in the way a dog is when it eats something it shouldn’t. 

That, however, is not the point. The _point_ is that every creature has weaknesses, even immensely powerful and near-invincible creatures such as higher vampires. Their biggest weakness seems to be this. Before they change, they are essentially human; during the change, they are incredibly vulnerable, as evidenced by the pathetic creature currently bleeding all over her laboratory. 

(He is pathetic in the way that a bird with a broken wing is, and not in the way that a drunken farmer is. That is to say, this is also endearing. For some reason, she feels the need to make that clear, which is ridiculous. She is the one who can read minds, not him — and even if he _could_ she shouldn’t _care_ if he’s offended. _Ugh._ )

Mages tend to be _very_ interested in power. If the wrong person were to get their hands on this information, it would be catastrophic, and she could undoubtedly foresee it ending with the (at least near) eradication of either higher vampires or mages — or both. Sorcerers and sorceresses are not the kind of people you share your greatest weakness with, is her point. 

And, since there are apparently no vampire mages, that means that no one with her knowledge and skill has ever taken a crack at this problem. It almost definitely is a contributing factor in the _feelings_ she’s developed for the fledgling, but also, her feelings have contributed to her drive to solve this problem.

That obviously requires some explanation. She doesn’t, admittedly, like to spend much of her time focusing on analysing her _feelings_ when there are more important things to do. She especially does not like when they are this confusing. Still, sometimes it is necessary. Working on this brought her into contact with the bard more over time, and the more she was in contact with him the more she came to get to know him. The more she got to know him, the more she came to care for him, and from there these _incredibly_ inconvenient and frankly vexing feelings developed rather quickly. As her fondness towards this man grew, so did her interest in helping him through his change, should it come to that, and as her interest grew she found herself spending more time with him, and as she spent more time with him…

Well.

Ad infinitum.

Admittedly, she has slightly selfish reasons for this. Her relationship with Geralt is… complicated. She finds she doesn’t necessarily mind the fact that she is bound to the witcher as she is — no, what really bothers her is that she’d never had any _choice_ in the matter. If she is able to pull this off, perhaps she can overwrite the bond he’d forced on her. Based on all she has read on the subject of bond magic, this one will take precedence because of the _power of true love_. As much as that ‘true love’ tripe feels like nonsense, its prevalence in this specific kind of magic shows that there is at least _some_ point to it. Theoretically, the witcher’s bond to Jaskier could be able to weaken his bond to her enough that she’d be able to rework it, make it into something more palatable, more of a blood-brothers thing than a marriage thing, allowing true friendship rather than the fucked up pseudo-romance the djinn’s magic tries to force them into over and over. 

Again, she needs to stress that she is _fond_ of Geralt and the bard. She considers them close friends, despite all their flaws (so many flaws). Their dynamic is different from the one that she has had with the witcher over the years. At first, she wanted to use him. Then, she wanted to love him. Now, she wants to help him. Just because she wasn’t built for romantic love, doesn’t mean that others aren’t. Just because she doesn’t want it, doesn’t mean these two don’t. They deserve to have it just as she deserves to be free of it. 

The word “love” has a lot of connotations that she doesn’t really appreciate. She doesn’t like the concept of being tied down to someone, of being essentially _owned_. She belongs to no man, and she will _never_ belong to any man. She will always be her own woman, nothing will ever take that from her — not alive, at any rate. Yes, she had wanted it before, when she thought that all she was worth was tied to whether or not someone else could — or would — love her. Now she is no longer that naive little girl, her scars are proof of her strength, she knows what she is _worth_. 

She finds that she does not need love of the romantic sort. She doesn’t _want_ it. Maybe she will one day, but for now she’s more than content with what she has. Sex is fine, a welcome experience, but something about the concept of _romance_ almost gives her a vague sense of nausea. The concept of tying oneself to another doesn’t appeal to her, doesn’t make sense. Let others shower one another with endearments and false promises, she frankly wants none of it.

Those idiots, though — they clearly do. Jaskier, that’s easy to see — it’s all he fucking sings about. Love, love, _love_. Be it noble or filthy, unrequited or fated, beautiful or painful, he sings and writes and speaks of love so much that sometimes she just wants to portal him far, far away. (She may have, once or twice.) 

Geralt, on the other hand… same coin, different side, that one. He loves to go on and on about how _witchers don’t feel_ and _witchers don’t need love_ as if saying the words negates the very obvious displays to the contrary. He followed her like an emaciated dog follows a trail of scraps because he thought that she would give him what he needed and wouldn’t _leave_. (And she’d tried, she had, but she just _can’t_ and it isn’t worth the pain of trying.) It isn’t that he doesn’t feel, it’s that he feels too much and doesn’t know what to do with it. He’s been hurt so many times that he instinctively tries to pull away from anything that might hurt him again and it only ends up hurting himself. He’s like a fox caught in a bear trap. 

The reason he gravitated to her in the first place, she’s pretty sure, is her power. It isn’t in the way that other mages might, no, it’s because he was so sure that she could take care of herself, that she wouldn’t just die on him — that if he could keep her alive, he could keep her from leaving. She shouldn’t have tried to give him what he needed because it just ended up hurting them both in the long run. 

His stupid bard had always been there, always so willing to give what she could never, but Geralt couldn’t see it — _wouldn’t_ , she’d wager — because he’d thought the little lark was _human_ and would die on him. The two of them are so gone on each other it’s almost sickening. 

If she allowed herself (and she _won’t_ , because she needs to be at the top of her game right now) then she would be worried for him. Yes, even though she knows that he’ll be fine after, literally better than ever. But the pained noises he’s making are tugging at her heartstrings, which is _very_ inconvenient when she is trying to _concentrate_. At the same time, it drives her to do better.

Maybe she’s a fool, trusting them with her friendship like this. Gods know she could probably destroy them if they ever tried to hurt her. The thing is, though… she is reasonably sure that they wouldn’t. As terrifying as people seem to think he is, Geralt is almost unbearably soft. If he cares for someone, they become his entire focus (outside of his profession, of course). He cares for those few he lets close as fiercely as he fights monsters, as if losing his loved ones would kill him just as easily as a gryphon tearing his throat out.

And Jaskier — for fuck’s sake, the bard had given her collateral in the form of his race’s deepest secrets. He _trusted_ her with that, and he trusts her now to care for him in the most vulnerable state he has ever experienced, and will ever experience afterwards. That level of trust is dizzying, and she can’t help but think in that soft, little part of her heart that she’d built all these walls around, that maybe one day she could do the same if it came to that. 

The deep focus on the concept of love is not random, but is actually integral to solving the problem at hand. Her working theory is that the reason the fledgling almost always kills the human they feed from during the change, even if they end up on opposite sides of the continent, has to do with bond magic. They become bonded but if it isn’t true love (which is annoyingly prevalent in magic, she finds) then the bond gets muddled. The vampire is drawn to the human but without the love to temper them, they become blind with bloodlust and. Well. 

If it were to come to that, she would have her magic. She would simply isolate him, locate and sever the bond, and the three of them would go their separate ways. (Thankfully, from what she has seen, this bond should be _much_ easier to break than the one placed by that blasted djinn. Small blessings.)

Still, she must stress how absolutely sure she is that it will _not_ come to that. Honestly, the hardest part of this will be getting the other two to agree to it. 

She can’t say she’s looking forward to it.


	4. I’m Shaken

Geralt doesn’t know whether he is relieved or frustrated at how easy it was to get the things on Yen’s list. Most of it he’d been able to find in his own pack, or in Roach’s saddlebags when he reunited with her. A sugar cube from the pouch in Jaskier’s pack that he pretends not to know about made her immediately forgive him for leaving her behind.

Of course, that brings his mind back to Jaskier, who is the reason for his stress right now.

Granted, the bard is the reason for his stress a lot of the time. It’s usually mild irritation but sometimes he can’t stop the concern that he feels when he thinks about the other man. His reckless behaviour has always been a source of endless frustration for the witcher, and he’ll admit to himself on cold nights when he’s had just a little too much to drink that he dreads the day that the bard will become too old to travel with him, dreads when he’ll start to slip away.

Well. He _did_. Apparently the whoreson had neglected to tell him that that was never going to happen. 

Admittedly, yes, he had said that he didn’t think he was going to become a vampire, but he mentioned _longevity_ so he at least should have said something about _that_ sooner. Of course, he could see the hesitance a vampire might have in regards to telling their true nature to a witcher. 

Fuck, is Jaskier afraid of him?

He has to stop to think about that. Yennefer won’t mind, surely — she had said that she needed him to go away, after all, so he can allow himself some time to figure this out. The bard has never smelled of fear like humans do (which makes sense now) but… he had, in the forest. Was he afraid of what was happening to him? That might be, but he also resigned himself to it so quickly. The casual way he’d said he was _dying_ keeps rattling around in Geralt’s head, and he hates it. It brings his mind back, far back, conjures memories he’s tried so hard to bury. Memories of _seven out of ten boys_ , of watching his friends succumb one by one, unable to handle the mutations forced upon them; memories of pain that hadn’t been allowed to end because he was _taking it so well_. 

Fuck, he needs to focus. 

Perhaps Jaskier had never been afraid of him before because he was confident that Geralt did not know what he was — or rather, what he is becoming? Higher vampires are nearly invincible, so of course after this change takes place, he won’t need to fear much of anything. Perhaps he had always thought that if or when this happened to him, Geralt wouldn’t be around, and the fact that there was a witcher there in his most vulnerable moments was too much for him?

That honestly hurts. Geralt is a witcher, but he is his _friend_. He cares about the bard almost too much. Even now, knowing that he is a vampire, Geralt isn’t going to try to hurt him. For fuck’s sake, he’s friends with Regis.

Shit, did Regis know?

Focus. Back to the original concept. Is Jaskier afraid because he thought Geralt would strike him down when he is most vulnerable? Or perhaps he thinks that Geralt will use this knowledge against the rest of his kind? Either of these means that the other doesn’t trust him. He can’t deny that that hurts.

At first, he and Jaskier were… not the best pair. He was frankly _terrible_ to the little songbird. He knows that, and he will admit that, and he _regrets_ that, but the only thing that one can really _do_ with regrets is learn from them. It’s the only way to move forward.

And he had. When he found Jaskier again, he vowed to be better. He apologised as well as he knew how. He didn’t expect to be forgiven — he almost didn’t want to. Geralt told his friend that he knew he fucked up, that he vowed to do better, and that Jaskier not only did not have to forgive him, but should not even _try_ to do so until Geralt proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was as good as his word. And he _had_. 

Even though he tried so hard to avoid it and then deny it, he knows Jaskier, has gotten to know him very well over the years. There was going to be that part of the man that wanted to forgive him even though he didn’t deserve it, because Jaskier is good and kind and Geralt didn’t mean what he said, but it was directly at war with the _other_ side of Jaskier. The other side was prideful and spiteful, and did not take kindly to being wronged, and Geralt _wanted_ him to lean into that impulse to be angry, to protect himself, to not blindly forgive.

Geralt did not deserve blind forgiveness. He did not deserve the kindness that the bard threw at him freely for years and years while he took and took and never gave any _back_. Jaskier deserved _better_. Geralt was selfish, though — still is — and didn’t want to give him up, not entirely, because he _knew_ that Jaskier was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He was the only person who had ever treated Geralt with _kindness_ , never fear or derision or blind hatred. The witcher had been so used to it, so hardened to it, so afraid of letting people get close only to lose them because it _always_ happened, that he ended up pushing away the only person who never would have left on their own.

He knows he has a tendency to sabotage his own happiness. It might be because he doesn’t know what to _do_ with happiness, or because he’s so afraid of leaving it that it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, or maybe he’s just an asshole. It’s probably all of those things. 

The point is that, over the next few years, he earned Jaskier’s friendship. He finally earned that which he had been so freely given, that which he never appreciated until it was gone. If asked to pinpoint exactly when he’d earned it (and he was never asked, but he has still tried to) he wouldn’t be able to say. He just knows that their dynamic shifted over the years since then. Any insults they exchanged were in jest, were good-natured. He began to take note of the bard’s needs — buying new boots when Jaskier’s began to wear down, a new traveling cloak, a new songbook when his became full; he took more breaks on the road, began carrying small amounts of basic seasoning for their meals, complimented the songs the other composed to the best of his ability.

If given the chance, he won’t _stop_ doing these things. Jaskier is important to him, immensely so. If he was going to be perfectly honest with himself, he knows that it’s more than friendship on his end. Of course, he isn’t under any illusions that Jaskier might love him back. If he once did, surely he doesn’t anymore. Geralt doesn’t think he deserves the other’s love, still, and being his friend is far more important than that. The Path is harsh, and while Jaskier has proven that he can handle being a traveling companion for a witcher, Geralt would never subject him to that life permanently. He deserves to be able to settle his bones when he gets tired of what they have. If they were together, he might feel obligated to keep traveling with Geralt, even when he isn’t able to anymore.

Of course, now Geralt knows that he will be able to for a long, _long_ time — probably longer than Geralt himself. He’ll be glad to have Jaskier with him for as long as he’ll follow, but he won’t force it. If Jaskier doesn’t trust him anymore, now that Geralt knows what he is…

Yes, it will hurt. After all this time, he admits that he barely expects Jaskier to leave his side anymore. How long are humans supposed to live? Apparently not this long, so he probably should have seen that there was something… off, but he honestly just hadn’t wanted to think about his best friend’s mortality. (Assumed mortality, apparently.)

How can he prove that he can be trusted? He can’t very well go in there and act like nothing is wrong — he can smell the blood from here, for fuck’s sake. Even if he’ll come back from it, Jaskier is dying, and painfully.

And Geralt is being selfish. He can’t just avoid this. He needs to go in there, support him in whatever way he can.


	5. I Know You Better Than Anyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer knows a lot of things. Apparently, the best way to deal with morons is one of them.

Thank the fucking Spheres, Geralt is back. Yennefer knows he was just pacing or brooding outside — she didn’t need her wards to tell her that, not after knowing him for this long — but she really needs his help right now.

For the past few minutes, Jaskier has just been retching, and all that’s coming out is blood and chunks of what she is very suspicious might be organ meat. And the little shit won’t listen to her when she tells him that’s a _problem_.

“You,” she says, gesturing to the witcher the second he walks in. “Drop the satchel, chain the bard, and come with me.”

“What’s wrong?” Geralt says immediately, only doing the first of three things asked of him. Really, is it that hard of a list to follow?

“‘Mfine,” the bard mumbles, and she shakes her head. 

“He isn’t. Silver chain around his wrists, and come with me.”

“Yen—” Geralt tries to say, but she is frankly _not_ having it. 

“ _Now_ ,” she snaps, patience wearing dangerously thin. “We have a lot to do and _very_ little time to do it.”

That seems to at least get Geralt into action. The tender apology he murmurs as he chains the bard’s wrists to the cot — magically enforced, thank you very much — has Yennefer rolling her eyes. 

“Good,” she says, before turning on her heel and striding out of the room. She can _feel_ the witcher hesitate, but thankfully her warning about their lack of time seems to have convinced him not to linger too long.

“What’s going on?” he asks again as soon as they’re out of earshot of the fledgling.

“He’s dying,” she says bluntly.

“I know, he said—”

“Permanently.” He opens his mouth like he wants to ask questions but honestly, this is not the time for him to discover his verbosity. She continues, “There’s a complication. He wasn’t meant to wait this long.”

“I don’t understand,” he grumbles.

She sighs, trying to build up just enough patience to explain this right. “He should have changed no later than his thirties. He’s nearly _sixty_. As far as I can tell, his body is trying to make up for lost time. Simply put, he’s falling apart faster than he can regenerate. If we don’t do something, and soon, there will be nothing _left_ of him.”

“Why haven’t you done it then?” he asks. She knows that he isn’t blaming her, that he’s just trying to understand, but she bristles all the same.

“I need several things I don’t have, one of which is his cooperation,” she answers shortly.

“He won’t let you help?”

“No. I’ll be honest, Geralt, there are risks. Significant risks. However, I suggested the solution at first as pain relief. I didn’t know he was dying, yet. Now, he thinks that I’m trying to trick him into doing something dangerous when it can be avoided. He refuses to believe that he might not make it without this.”

He gives her a _look_ , like he’s been given a contract without enough information on how to complete it. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“A number of things. I need you to understand, first and foremost, that he _will_ die if we do not act, and he will _not_ recover,” she tells him, crossing her arms. When the witcher nods his assent, when he tells her that he understands, she lets out a sigh and does her best to explain. 

Taking one of his hands in both of hers, she sits, beckoning him to do the same. When he does, she says, “You also need to understand that you are both my friends. I care for you deeply. I do not like saying so, but I need you to recognise that not only do I care for you, but I know you both very well. I know that you love him. Do _not_ argue, please; as I keep saying, there simply isn’t _time_. I know that you love him. I know that he loves you.” 

Geralt tries to interrupt anyway. “He—” is all he manages to say before she is shushing him again.

“I know you both very well. You’re both too stupid and stubborn to admit that you’re in love with each other and while normally that would be mildly irritating at worst, we do not have the time for you to figure this out on your own. 

“When a higher vampire ascends, changes, awakens, whatever you want to call it, there is a way to dull the pain and make them stronger as well. Centuries ago, they would give the fledgling a human sacrifice. Eventually, they tried to keep the humans alive, but nothing worked in most cases. If I were to give him a drop of a human’s blood and let that human flee to Nilfgaard, he would still find a way to track them down and finish them off no matter how long it took. He would not be himself until he did, he would be unable to fight that compulsion.

“However,” she continues, thankful that she has Geralt’s undivided attention, “there have been instances of the human surviving. His own parents are one such case. I have studied this for decades now, and I’ll skip to the conclusion: I believe that it creates a bond between the vampire and human, and since each successful case has resulted in them being lovers, it must be a romantic bond.

“Specifically, true love. Curses and bond magic are irritatingly dependent on it as a solution, it seems. My theory is that true love causes the vampire to recognise the person they have become bonded with, but without it they feel that pull but do not understand why. Their instincts take over and it becomes an obsession, a need to consume, until the tainted bond is severed by the human’s death. 

“The only thing that can save him is living blood. You are both in love with each other. I am entirely sure that you will successfully bond, but even if it were to go wrong, I am confident that I would be able to sever the bond before he could do you any harm. He, however, _refuses_ to listen because he thinks he’ll kill you. So, you see the problem?”

Geralt is frowning at her, brow furrowed as he processes this information. The longer he takes to process it, the less time they have to convince Jaskier to fucking do it, but she recognises that this is necessary. 

“So,” he says, “if he doesn’t drink my blood, he’ll die. If he does, and it isn’t true love, I’ll die.”

“Yes, although I cannot stress enough that it _is_ true love and you’re both _idiots_ ,” she answers.

“It doesn’t matter,” says Geralt. “Let’s go convince him.”

“Easier said than done,” she murmurs, though she gets up to follow him. If anyone can convince the man currently dying in her laboratory to _stop doing that_ , it’s Geralt. She knows what it’s like to be forced into a bond against her will because someone else wants to save her life, and she isn’t doing that to the bard. These two, for better or worse, are on their own until they come to a decision.


	6. Will I Survive? It’s So Hard to Tell

For fuck’s sake. Jaskier is fully aware that he’s dying, that his insides are basically liquefying in real time — he doesn’t need to be _told_ that. Honestly, he’s kind of coming in and out of awareness, so he admittedly isn’t paying attention to everything the sorceress says to him.

Geralt comes back and she tells him to chain Jaskier up — what, like he’s going anywhere? He’s pretty sure he’s going to be on this cot for a while whether he wants to or not. Still, the witcher does what she says and goes to have a _chat_ with her. 

They’re both his friends. He knows he’s only being bitter because he’s in _excruciating pain_. Still, he thinks that gives him at least a little bit of a fucking excuse. Honestly, he just wants this to be over as quickly as possible. He does not, however, want to put Geralt’s life at risk just so he can get a break. Nothing is going to make him gamble with the life of the man he loves, thank you. His father survived this, and his father before him — Jaskier will be fine. Yennefer just needs to understand that.

He’s suddenly aware — vaguely, at least — of someone saying his name. What a nice voice. It’s so… grumbly. 

“ _Jaskier!_ ” the voice barks, and wow, okay, he’s awake.

“Hmn? Geralt?” he mumbles. It feels like his tongue is made of cotton.

“Jaskier, please, you need to listen,” Geralt says. He sounds very upset.

“C’n we talk after?” 

“No. Absolutely not. _Please_ , Jaskier,” Geralt says, and that has his attention. He doesn’t want to make Geralt _sad_ , why does he sound so sad? “I’m not _sad_ , I’m… worried. About you.”

Oh. He’d been talking aloud. Neat. “Thought witchers don’t worry?” he teases as best as he can.

“Witchers don’t do a lot of things,” Geralt answers, “and that includes letting their best friend die.”

“You absolutely just made that up,” he accuses. “Witchers don’t have friends, you said.”

“Then I’m a terrible witcher. I blame you.”

Jaskier tries to laugh, but it turns into a terrible, hacking cough, and ugh, how is he going to be able to drink blood later? It tastes _awful_ coming out of him.

“Yennefer told me everything,” Geralt continues, sounding frantic now. 

“Doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about,” grumbles the bard.

“No, she does, and you need to _listen_ ,” the witcher snaps. “You’re dying faster than you can heal. You need blood.”

“No, not yours, not you,” Jaskier growls. Usually it’s Geralt doing the growling between the two of them but, well, when needs must.

“I can’t lose you,” Geralt says. 

“Same to you, witcher,” Jaskier answers.

“You need to believe in Yen,” Geralt all but begs. “Even if you don’t, there’s a chance you won’t kill me, but there’s no chance you’ll survive without this.”

“Won’t take any chance with your life, Geralt,” the bard says. It’s terribly difficult to move his arm, especially with the weight of the chains, but he manages, and thankfully they’re long enough that he can put a hand on the witcher’s cheek. Thankfully, a large hand is placed over top of his, so he doesn’t have to struggle to hold it there. “I care too much.”

“I love you, you whoreson,” Geralt says. He sounds desperate, frantic. 

Jaskier blinks at the three Geralts in front of him. “Oh, I’m dreaming?” he says. “That’s nice. Love you too, darling.”

“It’s real, Jaskier. This is happening, and I need you to agree to it. I can’t lose you. I _can’t_.”

“Don’t get hurt, dear,” Jaskier mumbles. Everything is fading, black around the edges. He doesn’t know what they’re talking about anymore; he knows he’s supposed to be concerned, but can’t for the life of him remember _why_. Geralt shouldn’t get hurt — what was he trying to do, again? 

“I won’t,” the witcher promises. “Please, I won’t, so just… let me do this for you.”

“Alright,” the bard finally agrees. Geralt wouldn’t steer him wrong. “I trust you.”

Then everything is black.


	7. This Selfishness Was Part of Saving Myself

The bard isn’t responding anymore, doesn’t seem to be conscious, but he’s going to be okay. Geralt can feel the way Jaskier’s mouth latches around his wrist, can feel each pull as he drinks deep from the witcher’s lifeblood, can see his throat bob every time he swallows. He’s drinking slowly, but he already is starting to look better. This isn’t the Trials, he doesn’t need to die. He’s going to be _okay_.

Jaskier agreed to it, too — that’s the important thing. Even if he hates Geralt for this later, that’s okay — it will hurt, of course, but not as much as _losing_ him. And this is different from what happened with Yennefer — the bond can be broken afterwards, and if it can’t… well, Geralt doesn’t need to really worry about anything.

The thing is, he’s always assumed he’s going to die at the hands of some monster. He’s been prepared for a violent death since he was a child. If the “monster” that kills him happens to be his best friend, the person he loves most… he’s okay with that. More than okay, actually, it’s better than he could have hoped for. His death will _mean_ something. 

Honestly, he doesn’t expect it to come to that. He’s fully confident in Yennefer’s abilities. Like him, she is fiercely protective of the people and things that are important to her. He isn’t worried, whatever the outcome. What matters is that Jaskier is safe, is going to be okay. 

He’d had to use Swallow, after making sure with Yen that it wouldn’t be harmful to the fledgling drinking from him. His heart rate being as slow as it is, he wouldn’t have had enough blood to give on his own. They’d let it go too long, let things get too bad. Apparently, the regenerative properties Swallow gives him are doing good things for the bard, too, and thank fuck for that.

It’s actually kind of funny, he thinks — this, right here, is everything he was trained against. He’d become attached to a person to the point where he’s willing to let it risk his life. He’s let someone get close. And when it turned out that that person was a vampire… well, it turns out that doesn’t matter to him. Jaskier is good, and kind, and just because he’s a vampire doesn’t mean he’s a monster. Geralt would fucking know. He knows what it’s like to be treated like a monster without having actually done anything monstrous. 

If Vesemir could see him now, the old witcher would absolutely flog him. Maybe it’s the relief, or the blood loss, or the drug-like properties of the vampire’s bite, but he finds he can’t stop laughing at the thought. 

Jaskier’s fangs have come in. They’re actually… cute. Yes, they’re definitely deadly and dangerous but, well, Geralt has never really had the best judgment when it comes to Jaskier. Fools in love, and all that. 

“There’s nothing more you can do, for now,” Yennefer says, putting a hand on his shoulder. He’s almost surprised by it, which shows how fucked up this whole thing has him. Honestly, though, this is as close to a safe place as there can be, he thinks — maybe even including Kaer Morhen. He feels like he’s had just a little too much to drink, and the lack of control should worry him, but it just makes him feel warm.

“I can stay with him,” he argues. 

“If that’s what you wish,” Yen answers. “Just don’t get in the way. I still need to make sure he stays in a stable condition.”

“Thank you, Yen.”

“Careful, witcher. You don’t want me to think you owe me.” It’s worded like a threat, but he knows her. He knows she’s only teasing, and he smiles.

Geralt’s smile turns to a frown pretty quickly, even for him. “I hope he doesn’t resent me,” he murmurs. He can’t even tell if it was supposed to stay in his head or if he meant to say it. 

“If he does,” she says after a moment’s pause, “he’ll get over it, eventually. I know from experience.”

The witcher only hums at that, not knowing what to say. He’s already apologised, and it doesn’t seem prudent to repeat himself even in that. 

“Get some rest. Meditate, at least. It will all be better when you wake.”

It’s the kind of thing that people say to children, the platitudes offered to those who haven’t lived through enough to know better, to know that nothing is ever really okay. Still, he lets himself believe it. If he can trust anyone in this situation it’s the sorceress murmuring in Elder behind him. Her voice lulls him to sleep at Jaskier’s side.


	8. Tried Not to Eat From the Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We did it! Thanks so much for all the support, I had a blast writing this one and I really appreciated and enjoyed all the lovely comments it’s gotten.

When Jaskier wakes, everything is different. 

While he’d known that it would be, that he would be fundamentally _changed_ at the end of this, it’s still jarring. After all, knowing something theoretically is very different from experiencing it. At first, he doesn’t open his eyes, because he’s already on the brink of sensory overload as it is. 

He catalogues everything he is experiencing, picking it apart one by one so that he can acclimate faster. The first thing he notices is that he isn’t chained to the cot anymore, which is nice. He hears the whirring of a contraption, the gentle hum of magic, Yennefer’s light footsteps. He smells the lingering scent of blood, faintly, as if it had been cleaned up, and the clean, sharp scent of alcohol. He feels the scratch of the sheets under him, a large, callused hand in his, the thumb running over the back of his hand.

_Geralt!_

His eyes fly open and he sits up quickly. Immediately, he regrets it; it’s like he’s got the worst hangover of his life. Everything is so _bright_ , the daylight filtering through the curtains just bordering on too much, and he’s violently dizzy from the sudden movement.

“Lie back down,” Yennefer demands, and her thin, long-fingered hands are pressing his shoulders back. He’s too disoriented to fight it, so he does. Thankfully, she at least lets him lean up against the wall behind his cot. 

“Geralt,” he says, because that’s the immediate concern. He’s assaulted by memories of the night before — at least, he thinks it was the night before, but he doesn’t know how much time has passed. He doesn’t know how much is real and how much was a dream or hallucination. 

“Right here,” Geralt says, still holding his hand like a lifeline.

For a moment, Jaskier stiffens, bracing himself for the desire to — he doesn’t know what. Rend, tear, _kill_. 

It doesn’t come.

He lets out a shaky breath that he hadn’t known he was holding. “I don’t know if I can quite trust my memory,” he admits. “Would you…?”

The bard makes the mistake of glancing at the witcher, and _oh_. If he’d thought Geralt was beautiful before (and he did, _Gods_ , he did) it was _nothing_ compared to what he can see now. It’s as if he’d been half-blind up to this point, like he’s really _seeing_ for the first time. Every minute shift in Geralt’s expression is visible, every little twitch of his muscles. Jaskier bets he could count every hair on the other man’s head, if he wanted.

“Jaskier?” Geralt says tentatively, unsure. He isn’t used to the witcher sounding unsure, doesn’t like it. “Are you alright?”

“Everything looks sharper,” the vampire says, sounding almost as dazed by it as he feels. “Gods, you’re… fucking gorgeous, really, I always knew that but I didn’t know how much I wasn’t _seeing_ , before.”

The witcher chuckles, dips his head — fuck, he’s embarrassed, and it’s _adorable_.

Yennefer clears her throat to get their attention. “You’ve been asleep for about two days,” she says. It sounds like she’s delivering a clinical report. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure you’d pull through.”

“I told you I’d be fine,” he grouses. He isn’t prepared for the force of the glare she shoots him.

“No, Jaskier, you wouldn’t have. Not if we hadn’t intervened.”

“I thought you were just saying that,” Jaskier says with a frown. Then, it hits him. “What do you mean, ‘intervened’?”

Geralt answers, and when Jaskier looks at him the witcher’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, expression almost guilty. “You were dying faster than you were healing,” he says. “If you hadn’t drank my blood, we wouldn’t be talking about this right now.”

A thousand and one different things go through Jaskier’s head, and he clutches Geralt’s hand tightly in his own. “You— you could have— Gods, Geralt, I could have _killed_ you!”

“Yet you didn’t, just as I’d tried to tell you,” Yennefer says. 

“I never would have forgiven myself if anything happened to you, and I could have helped but didn’t,” Geralt admits like he’s confessing his darkest sins. 

“And if anything had happened to _you_?” Jaskier demands. “How the fuck do you think I would have felt if I were the one to _kill you_?”

“The two of you talked about this already, before it happened,” Yennefer tells him, “but I’m not surprised you don’t remember. If you drank his blood, and it didn’t go well, then there was almost a guarantee that I would have been able to intervene and solve the problem. If we didn’t act, then it was a guarantee that you would not make it. Neither of us were willing to take this risk. And, you might remember, you _did_ agree to it.”

“I didn’t know _what_ I was agreeing to!” Jaskier seethes. 

“I know,” Geralt says. “I’m sorry.”

That makes Jaskier sort of crumble. The witcher looks and sounds so _guilty_. Yennefer doesn’t, but that’s just who she is as a person. If she thinks she’s right, she’ll never back down, and admittedly she _had_ been right. 

The thing that really makes him let go of his anger, though, is what the sorceress says next. “If the situation were reversed, would you have let him die?”

No. He knows he wouldn’t have. If Geralt was guaranteed to die, and he thought there was only a small chance for himself to meet that fate instead, of course he would do what he needed to to save the other. He wants to be angry, on principle, but he isn’t. He can’t. 

“How did you know it would work?” he asks instead of answering. All three of them know what his answer would be, he doesn’t need to say it aloud.

“It’s to do with bond magic,” she answers easily. “In every case that ended in the survival of both parties, the only common factor was true love. Without it, the bond created in the exchange of blood gets confused, and causes the new vampire to fly into a frenzy. Unable to make sense of the bond, it twists into a need to _consume_. With it, both parties are bonded. One of the side effects is that both parties take on the vampire’s lifespan and most of their invincibility.”

“How did you figure that out?” he asks. “I have to admit, I’m impressed.”

She gives him a taunting smirk that he isn’t sure he likes the look of. “Tell me,” she drawls, “how old is your mother?”

He frowns at her, trying to figure out what the fuck that has to do with anything, and then it clicks. Well, several things do, actually. “Shit,” he says, because what else can he say? Apparently his mother is far, _far_ older than he’d thought. He’ll admit that he hasn’t visited his parents in a _very_ long time, so he hasn’t known what she’s looked like for some time now, but he is always pleasantly surprised when she’s still around to return his letters. 

Then, something far more horrifying hits him. “You’ve been to see my parents,” he says with a considerable amount of horror. “Oh, Gods, they’re going to _kill_ me for telling you.”

“They weren’t happy at first,” she agrees, “but they warmed up to the idea pretty quickly, considering it involved me helping their son through the most painful experience of his life.”

He lets out a relieved breath, only to suck in a startled gasp as he realises something else.

“You said _true love_ ,” he says.

Yennefer, the absolute _asshole_ , only rolls her eyes. “Took you long enough,” she murmurs. It would be fascinating that he can hear it now, when before it would have been too quiet even for his trained musician’s ears, but he is currently too focused on Geralt to pay attention to that.

“I thought I’d imagined it,” Jaskier says softly, bringing a hand up to cup Geralt’s cheek. It reminds him of the night before — or, well, apparently several nights ago. This time, though, he is aware, more aware than he has ever been. “Hallucinated or dreamt it, perhaps. But you really…?”

“Love you, yeah,” Geralt finishes for him, and _oh_ , he can actually _hear_ the way the witcher’s too-slow heart speeds up, ever so slightly. 

Jaskier can’t keep the smile off of his face. “Then, what are the odds that I could kiss you now?” he asks, tongue darting out unconsciously to wet his own lips. 

“Very high,” Geralt answers. So, Jaskier captures the witcher’s lips in what is undoubtedly the best kiss of his life to date. He can actually _feel_ literal magic swirling behind it, and he isn’t sure if it’s because he’s sensitive to it now or if it’s because it’s from their bond. Yennefer was right, fuck, they’re bonded. They’re bonded by magic because they are in _true love_. 

“This is going to make an excellent song,” Jaskier murmurs as he pulls away from the kiss.

For once, Geralt doesn’t argue.


End file.
